Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Sorry for Love ❯ One-Shot

Warnings: Explicit sexual situations (aka LEMON... don't say I didn't warn ya)

Special thanks to BluEydMnstr for beta-ing!

Author's Note: This is a one-shot songfic in response to a Vegeta/Bulma fanfic contest on Gokugirl's website, The Lemonade Stand. Though the fic lost miserably, I think you'll like it. *grins*

This fanfic is set immediately following Cell's defeat. Enjoy!

When Vegeta landed on the doorstep of Capsule Corporation, he had no idea what to expect.

A great deal had happened in only a few short weeks, things that affected even the normally nonplussed, stoic Saiyajin no Ouji. From the first appearance of Dr. Gero's androids, to the reappearance of his son from the future, to the death of Kakarotto and Cell's eventual defeat, things had changed significantly for everyone. Still, where the rest of the defenders of Chikyuu could now rest and try to regain some type of normalcy, Vegeta was about to face a whole new challenge: the woman.

Even after the startling announcement that he was the father of Bulma's child, Vegeta knew that no one had believed it possible that he and the weakling onna had been anything more than casual lovers. He was not a dim-witted baka like Kakarotto; he had seen the sidelong glances and heard the hushed whispers whenever he and the woman were present. Vegeta had blatantly ignored them all, for he genuinely did not give a shit what anyone thought of their unexpected relationship. There was only one opinion he deemed worthy of consideration, and that was the one he contemplated now as he entered the home's spacious kitchen.

He knew that as far as the woman's friends were concerned, little had changed between them with the exception of having apparently had sex at least once in the last two years. The onna had acted as they all expected her to - working, harassing, bitching, laughing... He alone knew the truth; he alone understood that the previously candid female had learned the fine art of hiding a whirlwind of emotions behind a cleverly discreet exterior over the last few years. It was he who had taught her, though it had never been his intention to do so. The truth known only to the two of them was much more complicated. No one else knew that they had become more than lovers. No one else was aware that Bulma had reluctantly admitted her feelings to him, breaking their unspoken agreement that they would not voice such things. He had responded in the only way he believed possible at the time: he had taken the spaceship, set the destination to an uninhabited rock far away, and left before she woke to feed Trunks the next morning. No warning, no explanation, and no apology.

His time in space had given him ample opportunity to rationalize that decision. He told himself that he had not abandoned the woman and their infant son; on the contrary, he had simply taken the most beneficial course so that he could continue working to become a Super Saiyajin. He had no reason to stay. She had proven in the months since the boy's birth that she was capable of caring for him without any assistance, and when there was a time that she did require another, her infernally bubbly mother was happy to step in. And the fact that he had not informed her of his decision had nothing to do with cowardice, either. He had simply chosen to avoid the woman's unnecessary wrath and meaningless emotional babble. Bulma was no fool, he had told himself. Surely she would realize that their previous time together was proof that he would return once he had gained his ambition. She had stated almost defiantly that she accepted him for who he was and understood what he felt he had to do, so there was no reason to regret leaving. The pursuit of strength above all else was all he had known his entire life, the sole purpose of an otherwise miserable existence.

It was not until he had returned that he had realized the one flaw in his logic: she may have been willing to embrace him and his ways, yet he had not done the same for her. He had not allowed himself to acknowledge the feelings she had managed to invoked within his normally cold and empty soul. What she had called uncertainty, he termed a mere distraction. What she told him was fear of allowing someone into his heart, he scoffed at and countered that he was driven by pride alone. It was when she had said that she loved him in a soft, tentative whisper that he had found himself unable to respond. He had been perfectly content to remain untouched by such feeble, weak-minded emotions, and he had not thought any more of it after that.

When he had returned from space, battered but pleased with his new strength and skill, he had less than twenty-four hours before Kakarotto and his band of loyal followers had planned to meet and intercept the androids. When he had emerged from the capsule, he did not take note of the fact that she had not come out to greet him, for he had already pinpointed her location. With a renewed confidence in his superiority and adrenaline already flooding his veins at the thought of the oncoming battle, Vegeta had marched into the large, domed complex with every intention of taking the beautiful, infuriating woman he had chosen as a mate a year earlier and fucking her blind.

It had not worked out that way.

He recalled vividly how she had been sitting stiffly on the edge of her bed, her back to him and her head bowed so that her short, silky locks of aqua spilled haphazardly along her cheeks. Both fists were clenched tightly around the pale blue comforter, and even though he had intentionally made enough noise so that she would know he was coming, she did not move at all when he had opened the door.

Rather than giving in to the sudden sense of impending disaster, he had grabbed onto his most trusted reaction to any unknown situation.

He had snorted derisively, all the while glaring at the woman's unnaturally straight posture. "Onna, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Vegeta had begun to think she was ignoring him entirely, or perhaps she was having another one of her childish daydreams when she had finally spoken, though she did not face him or even raise her head from its resting place against her chest.

"Nothing. I just wasn't expecting to see you."

The woman's voice had been perfectly civil and polite, but the very tone and lack of inflection had made Vegeta feel as though someone had dropped a block of ice in his gut. In the time it had taken him to gather his thoughts and shield himself with the comfort of irritation rather than indecision, she had gotten up, though the tension in her body had not lessened at all.

"You didn't have to return the spaceship," she continued in a measured monotone that made his skin crawl. "When I gave it to you to train in, I never expected it back. Or do you just need it refueled while you battle the androids? I can probably get my father to have it ready for take-off in a day or two -"

"What are you rambling about? I did not return to this mudball just to fight and fuel the damned ship," he had interrupted gruffly, rebelling with little success against the uncharacteristic tightness in his throat.

It was then that she had finally turned to face him, her typically poignant cerulean gaze leveling dully on him and her naturally rosy lips drawn into a thin, pale line. His scowl had deepened instinctively as he noted the sallowness of her complexion highlighted by deep purple-green circles under her eyes.

"I see," she intoned softly. "You plan to stay here once this is all over?"

The answer should have been perfectly clear as far as he had been concerned, and the sarcastic edge in his words expressed as much. "I would think that was obvious, Onna, or perhaps that baka Kakarotto's lack of intellect has rubbed off on you in my absence?" he had quipped, an obnoxious smirk finding its way onto his royal features.

He had fully expected the comment, one that he had cleverly worded to insult both her and the fool she had declared to be invincible on several occasion, to piss her off. It had been a while since they had enjoyed a good argument, and he would have been much more comfortable dealing with her mad as hell than what had been before him at that moment.

Unfortunately, it had not worked. In fact, it had seemed to only make her even more withdrawn.

"Maybe it has," she had droned resignedly, lifting her hand to her temple and making a few small circles with two fingers, "or maybe I was already an idiot and just didn't know it."

By that point, Vegeta's pseudo agitation had become very genuine. "Woman, I demand to know what is wrong with you," he growled as he crossed the room in a few long strides. It was only when he had closed the distance between them so that only inches separated their faces that she seemed to snap out of her baffling stupor; she had quickly jerked away from him as though his very touch would burn her pale flesh, and her breath had suddenly become alarmingly labored and shallow. For a moment, he had wondered if she were hyperventilating, but the single tear that betrayed the confines of her tightly clenched eyes had stopped his move to place his hand on her trembling shoulder.

"I'm fine, Vegeta," Bulma had replied in a manner that did little to persuade the suspicious Saiyajin as she had roughly wiped away the moisture from her cheek. Her shimmering eyes had darted anxiously to different places beside and behind him without ever actually finding their way to look him directly, and that alone had suddenly made him realize how much he had anticipated seeing her upon returning to Chikyuu. "You know, I better tell Mom that you're here so she'll know how much to cook," she pointed out after a tense pause, her voice wavering slightly. And then, like a frightened animal trying to escape from the hunter who stalks it, she had pushed past him and went out the door before he even realized what was happening. As soon as she had gotten into the hallway, Vegeta had listened intently as her brisk steps away from him turn into a jog even as she went down the stairs at breakneck speed.

Infuriated by her abrupt dismissal of him without any reasonable explanation, Vegeta had stormed after her, his own hands balled tightly into fists at his sides and his typically sour expression set grimly over his regal features. He had followed the direction she had gone, plowing down the staircase and bursting into the kitchen, the muscles in his jaw flexing erratically as he had prepared to corner the woman until she was willing to justify her treatment of him if need be.

As if the gods were enjoying his escalating mouse-in-an-endless-maze frustration, he had entered the kitchen and found himself face to face with the last person he had wanted to deal with at that moment: the onna's dim-witted mother. He had planned to simply ignore her and go towards one of the small gardens between buildings where he felt her ki emanating from.

"Hi, Vegeta!" she had greeted in the same oblivious tone as always.

"Hn." Then he had tried to pass her, but a firm grip on his upper arm had held him back. He had leveled a venomous glare that would have made most men cringe on the woman's brightly smiling face, but, as usual, it had no effect.

"Yeah, Bulma just ran in here and told me you'd be hungry, so I already put a plate together." And with that, she had directed him to the table, talking all the while. "You look tired," she had drawled worriedly. "I'll make sure to fix a room up for you. We were all really worried about you, you know! And with Bulma not eating or sleeping, thinking you had run out on her and my gorgeous grandson... But I kept telling her, 'Sweetie, he'll be back! Vegeta's a good man, you'll see!' And I was right!"

He had not pursued Bulma after hearing that.

Like so many times before, and many more in the days that followed, Vegeta knew that he had failed yet again when he chose not to confront her that night.

He was determined not to make the same mistake this time, for he knew that everything else was gone. The strength he had declared superior had been surpassed over and over again. The cold, heartless mindset he had spent a lifetime perfecting had shattered the moment Mirai Trunks' lifeless body hit the ground. His greatest weapon and most trusted asset, his pride, had been crushed repeatedly at the hands of Dr. Gero's monstrosities. The opportunity to redeem his honor from the one who had given him his very first bitter taste of defeat in combat had been stolen from him the moment the fool needlessly killed himself off. And to top it all off, he now had to live with the fact that Kakarotto's scholarly, half-breed brat was more powerful than himself.

In the end, he had only one thing left to lose.

He sensed the entire family in the large living room, and he made his way purposefully down the hall until he came to the large entryway. As soon as he walked in, the room fell silent as all eyes, even those of the boy propped on the woman's hip, turned on him. Dr. Brief regarded him darkly, his mustache twitching angrily while Mrs. Brief remained as insufferably chipper as ever and gave him a warm, clueless smile. Bulma, noticing his eyes planted firmly on her, turned her attention back to the table and grabbed one of the tall glasses that surrounded a large pitcher, taking several audible gulps as an excuse to avoid his penetrating gaze.

Mrs. Brief got up and let out an embarrassed chuckle. "Oh my! Where are my manners? Would you like some lemonade, Vegeta? It's freshly squeezed," she added, followed by another girlish giggle.

"No," he replied impatiently. "I wish to speak with the onna."

Bulma's father looked as though he objected to the idea, but Bulma's voice stopped him short. "If you have something to say, Vegeta, then say it," she stated quietly.

Vegeta suppressed the urge to growl at the woman's cool words. She knew he would not discuss anything of importance in front of these people, but he chose instead to amend his request rather than risk losing his temper and receiving another cold shoulder for it. "I wish to speak with the woman alone," he stated firmly, crossing his arms comfortably across his chest.

Bulma drew in a sharp, shuddering breath. This seemed to be enough to finally push Bulma's father over the edge, and he jumped up with his fist waving in front of him and his beady eyes boring into Vegeta's head.

Before Dr. Brief had a chance to speak, his wife let out a squeal and grabbed the irate man's hand. "Oh, how silly of us! Of course you want some privacy. I mean, you have been gone a long time, so I'm sure you two have a lot to catch up on."

Dr. Brief opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut immediately as the bouncy blonde leaned over, pulled Trunks from her daughter's protective grasp, and motioned for him to follow her as she headed for the door. When he didn't budge, Mrs. Brief turned back and gave Vegeta a conspiratorial, knowing wink as she collected her astonished husband and drug him out of the room by the sleeve of his lab coat.

The equally surprised Saiyajin Prince made a mental note to never insult the onna's mother again.

He waited to speak again until he knew the pair were well out of earshot as he observed Bulma alternate between wringing her hands and pretending to study the pictures hanging on the wall as she took large, unrefined swallows of her drink. Had the circumstances been different, he could have used such an atypical display of apathy to taunt her for months, although... if things worked out the way he planned, he considered silently, he would still be able to. He allowed the tense silence to continue for another moment. "We have much to discuss, and I will not talk to the side of your face," he remarked arrogantly.

The diminutive Saiyajin was relieved to see that she had not yet lost all of her spunk as she stood abruptly and stomped across the room, coming to rest in front of him. He inclined his head negligibly to the side as she poked a thin finger an inch from his nose and her sapphire gaze, now alight with fiery indignation, bravely met his unguarded obsidian one.

Under the weight of that stare, Bulma's righteous anger was forgotten and fell away faster than her hand from his stony visage.

"Have you decided to leave again?"

Vegeta frowned a fraction as he watched the woman's wide, sky-blue eyes fill with a strange combination of fear and hope, and he wondered which response she feared, and which she hoped for.

"No," he answered gruffly, and he forced himself to remain calm when it was the hope that melted away from her moist cobalt orbs.

Bulma bit her quivering bottom lip. Vegeta knew that she was considering her next question, and he remained still and silent as she continued to study him. A minute later, she took a deep, steadying breath. "Is it because you don't have anywhere else to go?"

"I am more than capable of surviving on my own, Onna, whether I had chosen to stay on this backwater planet or not. This has nothing to do with necessity," he maintained firmly.

"Then what does it have to do with, Vegeta?" Bulma cried. "I already told you when you first came that you were welcome to stay here for as long as you wanted, and it's not as though I expect you to even ask whether or not you can still stay because Kami knows you'll do whatever you want, no matter how anyone else feels about it. You can't defeat Son-kun anymore because he's dead, so what other reason could you possibly have for sticking around? It's not like I'm going to beg you to stay when you don't even care enough about me and our son to take off without at least writing a Fuck You note. I don't get it, Vegeta," she admitted tiredly. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"First of all, you should not make such hasty assumptions about my motives, Woman," Vegeta retorted shortly.

Bulma shrugged resignedly. "Well, I haven't had much choice since you've never been willing to tell me what they are."

The fact that she was right didn't bother him; he was well aware that his impenetrable pride had never allowed him to speak freely about such things. What concerned him was the fact that the familiarly contemptuous tone she had started with had gone painfully flat once again, and at that moment, he would have done anything to have her scream at him rather than speak in such a hollow and defeated manner. He was tempted to try provoking her again but instantly thought better of it. As much as he enjoyed fighting with feisty female, he was on shaky ground already, and he suspected that it would be way too easy to make her give up on him for good. Vegeta was no fool. He knew that he had never given her any reason not to, not any that she would understand, at least.

He cursed himself inwardly, him and his damned self-absorbed attitude. Look where it had gotten him: stranded on a mudball planet located at the hind-end of the universe that was full of nothing but weaklings. The brain-damaged, third-class Saiyajin had been the only one with strength and abilities comparable to his own, the only other who had been able to appreciate the beauty and freedom found in performing the deadly dance of combat. Though there were a half dozen other unusually strong exceptions on Chikyuu, every one of them, Kakarotto's half-breed son included, were all too peace-loving and complacent to comprehend who and what he was. None of them had ever taken a life without reason, and they were hesitant even then, preferring to follow their dim-witted friend's example and offer mercy first.

Vegeta, on the other hand, didn't just have the blood of a guilty few on his hands. No, he had purged hundreds of planets without a thought. He had killed warriors and farmers and women holding their defenseless children protectively to their breasts. He had toyed with those weaker than himself just so he could revel in the sadistic power trip that came with slowly, torturously stealing someone's will to fight and live, watching as the hope bled from their eyes, leaving only fear of the inevitable pain that would follow...

And with a sharp, sinking feeling in his stomach, Vegeta realized that just before he had ruthlessly taken their pathetic lives, those innocents had regarded him very much like Bulma looked at him right now. After everything she had done for him, after everything she had given, he had done this to her, as though she meant no more to him than any of the nameless, faceless masses he had murdered while working under Frieza. It had not been his intention, he knew, but it did not change the result.

For the first time, Vegeta found himself wondering, not if Bulma was worthy of him, but if he was truly worthy of her.

The atypical thought was completely foreign to him, but nonetheless, he could not deny its merits. No matter what his intentions had been, he had been unable to properly convey any of them to her. Pride had been the largest factor, and a lack of verbal prowess needed to communicate effectively with another person, treating them as an equal rather than a subordinate was another. Even as he stood before her now, he found that he could not explain the multitude of emotions that flooded his consciousness and invaded his otherwise empty soul. And he wondered if perhaps that was for the best, after all. Hadn't he already proven that his very presence did more harm than good? Hadn't he already destroyed the faith she had shown in him when she allowed him to become an intimate part of her life? Hadn't he inadvertently corrupted her lively, adventurous spirit by exposing her to the darkness within himself?

Of course he had, and the realization of yet another wretched failure disgusted him.

Perhaps her fear was not unwarranted. Perhaps it would be better for everyone involved if he had not come back. At least then the majority of memories he would have taken with him would be pleasant. He would not have the image of those blazing blue orbs filled with agony and sorrow burned into his brain.

"Vegeta?"

The statuesque ouji blinked several times and shook his head roughly to clear the despondent musings from his mind. With great effort, he refocused his attention on the anxious woman in front of him.

"What?" he replied gruffly and grunted after his words struggled against his uncomfortably constricted throat muscles.

Bulma studied his carefully controlled expression for several seconds before speaking. "Vegeta... will you at least tell me what you're thinking right now?"

"Perhaps you were right," Vegeta managed tightly. "Perhaps I should not have returned."

"Then... then why did you?" Bulma inquired timidly. "I think I know you as well as anyone, and I know you don't do things without a reason. If it wasn't to gas up the spaceship and it wasn't because you needed a place to live, what was it?" Her voice began to waver, and her questioning cerulean eyes were once again glistening with tears. "Why did you come back here, Vegeta?"

The truth was that he barely understood his own reasoning, so explaining it in detail to the emotional female would be impossible. Still, as the first glittering pool overflowed and spilled down the side of her face, Vegeta raised his hand and wiped it away tenderly; he kept his face carefully blank as he took a deep breath and offered her the only words that made any sense to him.

"Because you are my mate."

Whether it was the words themselves, the deep, meaningful tone he had used to make the simple declaration, or both, he did not know. Nor did he care very much. All that mattered was that, as soon as the statement left his lips, Bulma's entire demeanor changed. Her startled blue eyes widened considerably, and her mouth fell open, forming a small, shocked 'o'. Long, slender fingers that had been curled so tightly her knuckles were white relaxed while her arms that had been wrapped defensively around her midsection fell limply to her sides. There was still apprehension within the endless depths of her eyes, but now it was only a shadow of what it had been. It was like she had reopened the floodgates of her emotions, and they steadily drowned out the cold dullness that had filled her gaze, replacing it with the raging myriad of thoughts and feelings that he was accustomed to and expected from the spirited onna.

He could see her desire, her need, her acceptance, her forgiveness... but most importantly, he saw her hope reborn.

He was sure he had never seen anything so incredible, and he fleetingly - and privately - acknowledged that perhaps Kakarotto had not been so foolish for always holding onto such vague and irrational emotions. Eloquence be damned, he decided. She would have her answers if it killed him. "Onna, I -" he began determinedly, but a shake of her head silenced him.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter anymore. Just shut up and kiss me," she commanded urgently as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him desperately to her.

Their lips met, and all musings, depressing or otherwise, fled his befuddled mind. It didn't matter anyway, he knew he would never fully understand humans and their seesawing emotions, but as long as he was willing to accept her as she had him, he was confident the rest could be dealt with. All he wanted to focus on at that moment was the feel of her satiny lips beneath his, the ambrosial taste of her mouth as their tongues performed a languid duel, the soft whimpers that escaped her throat and her unique, alluring scent that tantalized his senses like a drug he couldn't get enough of.

He growled deeply as he felt both of her hands tangle themselves into his hair, her fingers curling and uncurling erratically within the upswept raven locks as let his fingers wander along the soft curves of her back before moving along her waist to the front of her shirt. The flimsy white tank top annoyed his dazed mind; his need to feel her satiny skin against his tingling flesh was maddening, and he impatiently tore the thin barrier in half, letting it hang uselessly off her shoulders as his hands slid upwards. It was apparent that Bulma, as usual, would not be outdone. Her hands left his hair and moved to his broad shoulders, and with a few fierce tugs, pulled his top to his arms. Vegeta was quick to oblige the woman's coaxing, and he let go of her just long enough for her to pull the fabric over his head.

Before the material had even hit the floor, Vegeta crushed her frail body against his immensely powerful one, his tongue exploring every dip and curve of her mouth, growling low in his throat when her fingernails ran firmly over the contours of his back. He relaxed his grip, both to prevent crushing her ribs and so that he could run his hands along the dip of her stomach, moving slowly up to breast, fondling one through the confines of white lace.

Bulma moaned longingly as she pulled her lips free. "Vegeta," she whispered breathlessly, her lust-filled eyes leveling hungrily on his, "we should go upstairs."

"Why?" he purred as he leaned in and began to nip playfully at her earlobe before moving slowly down her sharp jawline.

"My... my parents," she argued half-heartedly even as she tilted her head to the side to give him better access to the sensitive flesh of her throat. "What... what if they come in and -"

Vegeta smirked defiantly against the crook of her neck. "Let them come," he stated smoothly as the arm around her waist tightened possessively. "I have chosen you, so let them come and see firsthand that you are mine."

Bulma whimpered helplessly as he continued torturing her with petal-soft kisses along her collarbone. Her manicured nails embedded themselves into his arms when he unexpectedly lifted her off the floor, wrapping her legs around his waist. Vegeta used one hand to hold her as the other moved between the supple mounds, making quick work of the small clasp of her bra. He smiled predatorily at his handiwork as he pushed the barrier out of his way so that it dangled on her arms with what remained of her shirt, and he rewarded himself by seizing a pert, rosy nub between his teeth. The sound of Bulma's pleasure-filled cries echoed through the large room as he nibbled and suckled her breast, and a groan escaped his own throat as she writhed erotically against him. He finally moved away, the tip of his tongue teasing the salty skin between them, chuckling evilly as she moaned in protest. However, those soft sounds increased and became deafening as he found the other neglected nipple, giving it the same glorious treatment as its counterpart, making her arch her back as her legs tightened around him, the pressure of what he truly desired rubbing against him sensually to the point that he nearly lost his footing.

Unable to resist any longer, the Saiyajin kneeled down and laid Bulma on the floor, freeing himself of her legs' vice-like grip on him and allowing himself a moment to gaze upon her flushed, passion-glazed visage as he toed off his boots. Then his half-lidded eyes moved down to her favorite pair of faded blue jean shorts.

Bulma noticed it, and her eyes flickered warningly. "Vegeta, don't -" But before she could finish, he had gotten a firm hold on either side and, with one swift jerk, split the denim cleanly along the seams, grinning down on her wickedly as he tossed the ruined garment aside. She spluttered angrily and raised herself onto her elbows as he disposed of her panties in the same manner, throwing the lacy material carelessly to the side as well. "Damn it, Vegeta!" she bellowed, her sapphire eyes narrowed irately on him. "You knew those were... Oh... oh gods!" she screamed as her rant was interrupted by his questing fingers that had slipped between her legs and began caressing the slick, swollen nub hidden beneath the soft folds of her womanhood.

Bulma continued to moan incoherently as her head fell back, exposing her graceful, swanlike neck while her round bottom jerked up in a physical plea for fulfillment that sent what little was left of Vegeta's self-control straight to hell. Within a fraction of a second, what remained of his clothing was disposed of, and he stretched his body over hers and positioned himself, his lips brushing lightly against hers as the tip of his straining arousal teased her moist entrance. Bulma instinctively opened her legs wider and rolled her hips gently, and her breath hitched in amazement as his burning, liquid onyx gaze fixed piercingly onto raging twin pools of endless blue.

"I claim you as my mate," Vegeta intoned determinedly, the muscles in his chest and arms twitching erratically as he barely contained his animalistic urges for those precious final seconds needed to make his verbal declaration. "You are mine."

Bulma bellowed her gratitude at the top of her already overtaxed lungs as he plunged himself in with one deep, strong stroke while he hissed savagely through tightly clenched teeth. He was too far gone for gentleness; he set a hard, fast pace that sent Bulma to heaven and beyond even though she had no hope of keeping up with his frantic thrusts. Vegeta knew somewhere behind the red haze of his pleasure that this was the case, and he quickly use one arm to wrap around her, lifting her rear up so that he could embed himself even deeper into her hot, velvety flesh and moving her body in time with his frenzied movements.

Bulma held onto him like a lifeline, clawing spasmodically at his back and shoulders as a variety of incomprehensible sounds fell from her lips, and still he pushed onward, only barely able to keep himself from inadvertently losing himself in the painfully pleasurable sensations and damaging the woman's frail body. His blood thundered in his ears and his groin ached as the pressure continued to build, and build, and build higher still until he was sure that he would explode in a ball of white-hot energy that would consume them both...

Bulma's body jerked as her orgasm hit her, making every muscle in her body clench as wave after wave of release swept over her clouded consciousness. The walls surrounding Vegeta's pulsing erection contracted, and he let out a primal howl as he felt his own blessed climax overcome him, draining the strength from his limbs and extinguishing the inferno that had engulfed his mind and body.

With a few final, drawn-out thrusts, Vegeta collapsed next to the spent female, dragging her lithe form to him so that she curled up in the crook of his arm, and he brushed away several stray strands of aquamarine that clung to her brow. They both laid silent for a while, gasping for air and groaning every so often as over stimulated skin rubbed together. Finally, the aftershock died away, leaving both Vegeta and Bulma very near exhaustion.

It was another moment before the quiet was broken. "Vegeta?" The Saiyajin grunted, and Bulma bit her lip worriedly before continuing. "What are you going to do now that" - she swallowed anxiously - "now that I'm your mate?"

"I do not know yet what I will do," he admitted, "but I will tell you this." He turned his head to her and looked deeply, meaningfully into her eyes, his voice taking on a tone of finality that set every fiber of her being at ease as she witnessed the almost tangible honesty and firm devotion steal over his features. "You are my mate, and I have neither any need nor desire to leave you again."

Lyrics: Sorry for Love by Celine Dion